Make It Better
by Pocket Full Of Dreams
Summary: How and why did Greg Sanders become interested in his work field? Was it one person that pushed him in the right direction? Greg/OC, starts at age 17 and follows through adulthood. T for now, rating may change.


**A/N: So this is quite the departure from my Penelope and Derek fics that I've been posting... Behold, my other obsession: Greg Sanders and CSI. 3 This is something I began writing months ago and finally feel like taking a risk and posting. I can't bring myself to ship Greg with someone on the show- I feel like there really isn't much to go on for me to write about- so I created my own character, Maegan Anderson. Somewhere, I read that all writing is autobiographical in some way, and the character does draw from me in certain respects, but all the same, there are things about her that are different. :)**

**Anyways! This story was all inspired by a song by Kelly Pease called (what else?) Make It Better (.com/watch?v=soQU0SdnH1Y), which is one of my favorite songs. This story is going to start with Greggo being seventeen in Nevada and will go on through the CSI seasons.**

**This chapter is going to be a lot of introductions and establishing the base of the story. For this part of the story, there will be a lot of OCs, only because he hasn't joined LVPD yet. The next few chapters will be less of an information dump, I promise!**

**Please review and let me know what you think of the concept! Enjoy! :{D**

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><p><strong>Make It Better<strong>

It was a small, isolated farm in rural Nevada, as far from Vegas as was possible. Fields of corn and wildflowers dominated the acres of land, leaving some pasture space for the horses and cows to graze in. The chickens were unnaturally quiet that day, making almost no noise in their little coop near the farm house.

The girl arrived first, roaring up the drive in a beat-up, light blue truck that wasn't exactly clean. The door to the house flew open and a little girl flew out, bouncing up and down outside the driver's side door until it opened. She leaped into the cab and wrapped her little arms around the young woman's neck. "Hi, honey!" she laughed, holding the little body close to her for a few moments. "Let me get out of the car and get my stuff inside- then we can talk, okay, sweetie?" The little girl nodded against her shoulder before she hopped out of the truck.

A gladiator sandal met the dirt as the girl began the process of easing out of the truck. Her sunglasses slipped a little down her nose when she set down her other foot, tapping her toes to the song playing in the cab. The engine's roar was gone; she'd shut the ignition off, but the music was still blasting, a popular song by Bruno Mars. She led the little girl by the hand to the truck bed, where her suitcases lay flat under a carefully fastened rope, and since she was insisting on helping, she passed the child her shoulder bag before hoisting the suitcases over the side of the bed. They walked together to the door, the suitcases leaving thin trails in the dirt of the path.

"Maegan!" A pot clattered to the countertop, the screen door slammed, and the young woman was engulfed in another hug, this one much more proportional than the last. "Sweetheart, it's so good to see you."

"Aunt Clara!" Maegan smiled as the woman pulled back after a hug that was a little longer than most. A hand was on her cheek and eyes that had seen much examined the younger face with a touch of sadness within the joy.

"It's so good to see you." Her hands slid down Maegan's arms to grasp her wrists. "How's everything at home?"

Maegan's smile faltered and fell. "The same as how you left it, Aunt Clara. Nothing's really changed." The two shared a sad silence, unwilling to articulate just what it had been for so long, until there was a tug at the bottom of Maegan's skirt.

Adoring eyes stared up at suddenly amused ones. "Maeggy, where can I put this?"

Maegan laughed. "Put it on the chair, sweetie." The little girl rushed across the room to hoist the bag onto the rickety kitchen chair, pulling herself into the adjacent one and frantically coloring a picture that seemed to be almost finished. After gazing fondly at the little girl, the two women looked at each other once more. "Where's Uncle Sam?" Maegan asked her aunt, the affection clear in her voice.

Clara smiled. "He's just finishing up with the pigs; he should be in soon." At that, the screen door swung open once more, and a man in a ragged work shirt and old jeans stepped in. He looked around the room, his gaze stopping on the little girl and his wife with fond looks, finally finding Maegan beside Clara after a brief moment. His face cracked into a wide smile.

"Maeggadear!" He opened his arms, and Maegan ran into them, letting an excited squeal escape her mouth. "How are you, darlin'?"

She looked up, eyes positively sparkling with happiness. "I'm okay, Uncle Sam; how are you?" She squealed again as he swung her around the kitchen, tightening her arms around his neck. The little girl looked up from her furious coloring for a moment to giggle at the sight of the seventeen-year-old gasping for breath as the farmer finally set her back down. Clara, ever the concerned mother, watched with a guarding eye and a small smile.

"I'm wonderful, and so happy you're here, sweetheart." He went to Clara and put a tanned, muscled arm around her, kissing her cheek. Maegan crossed her arms and smiled, casting her eyes away and out the window for a moment. She squinted; was that a car coming up the drive?

"Is someone else supposed to come today?" Maegan asked, not taking her eyes off of the black car slowly maneuvering the path to the old farm house.

The couple looked at each other. "There's something we didn't get the chance to tell you…"

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><p>Greg Sanders was <em>not <em>a farm boy; in fact, he wasn't really an anything boy. At seventeen years old, his life was going in no real direction: his only extracurricular activity was captaining the chess team, and even he had to admit that that was not going to get him far.

It had been his grandfather, Papa Olaf's, idea to send him to this farm for the summer, for his first experience in manual labor and to give him time to think about his future. Senior year was fast approaching, and he needed to get serious about post-high school life. At the moment, he wasn't too enthralled with any particular path.

His mother had been horrified with the idea at first ("Gregory? On a _farm?_ He could get hurt! I won't let my baby go!"), and she still wasn't too pleased with it, but a lot of convincing and Papa Olaf's usual bizarrely logical, Norwegian voice of reason were too much for her. She let them take him on the condition that she would call him every day to make sure he was still alright. She had always smothered her son with protection, despite how close to adulthood he was.

The owners of the farm were friends of Papa Olaf's- he saw them at the farmer's market every Saturday when he and Nana Olaf went to get their eggs and produce- and he had mentioned Greg in the past. They offered to let him stay on their farm for the summer and work, and Papa Olaf had taken care of the rest.

The farm was a far drive from the lovely neighborhood the Sanders home was located in, at least forty-five minutes, but now, the car was bouncing up a very long dirt path. Papa Olaf had been talking on and on about what was to be expected at the farm, but Greg had zoned out the moment they started the engine, so he hadn't heard a word of it, leaving him with nothing to be prepared with, not even the owners' names.

The car slowed to a stop outside of a small, older looking house, nestled between pasture and two large barns. The paint was slightly peeling after years under the harsh Nevada sun, but Greg saw a particular hominess in it compared to his house's constant magazine-cover level of order. Greg's dad stepped out of the car, and Greg followed suit, opening the door and effectively blinding himself; the sun was almost too bright outside the tinted windows of the car. His eyes sought cover underneath his wrist, and as his eyes adjusted, the sound of a screen door opening reached his ears. He turned toward the house to see a man dressed in simple work clothes come bounding down the wooden steps of the house with a welcoming grin.

"Good to meet you, fellas!" The unfamiliar man extended a hand to Greg's father first. "Sam Anderson."

"Fred Sanders. Nice to meet you," Fred replied, smiling politely back. He gestured to Papa Olaf beside him. "You've met my father-in-law, Olaf."

Sam laughed loudly. "Yes, Olaf is a good friend." Papa Olaf grinned at him. Sam set his eyes on Greg, eagerly striding over to him. "You must be Greg. Olaf has told me all about you," he smiled, shaking Greg's hand in earnest. "We're going to have a good summer together, I promise." Greg could only nod in response, slightly overwhelmed by the situation. "I'd like to introduce you to my family." He gestured to the porch, and just exiting the house was a woman with a young girl on her hip. When they reached the car, Sam put an arm around them, pecking the little girl on the cheek.

"You must be Greg!" Clara exclaimed, extending her free hand to him. "I'm Clara, Sam's wife, and this," She shifted the little girl on her hip. "is Laura. Laura, what do you say?" Greg let go of the woman's hand, waiting with a friendly smile.

The child's face broke into a grin. "Nice to meet you!" she cried, then shyly hid her face in Clara's dress. The adults and Greg laughed together at the adorable child's greeting.

The sounds of footsteps could be heard from inside the house, and Greg was sure there was a look of intense confusion on his face, because with no prompt, Sam chuckled. "No, it isn't a ghost. My niece, Maegan, is also staying with us for the summer. She'll be working on the farm, too. You guys are the same age; I'm sure you'll be good friends." He turned back to the house. "Maegan! Can you come out here, please?"

"Sure, Uncle Sam!" a sweet voice lilted from inside. Greg instantly looked in the direction of the house, eager to catch a glimpse of the faceless girl that would be his partner for the next two months.

The screen door opened, and Greg realized he was holding his breath as a black gladiator sandal appeared below the beaten frame. A girl stepped out from behind the thick screen and tripped lightly down the steps, making her way with a special kind of lopsided grace. Greg exhaled at the sight of her, drawing his eyes to the top of her head, where her reddish-brown waves were shining under the intense light of the sun. Hazel eyes watched him from underneath impossibly long lashes that cast shadows on the lightest of freckles that lay in a unique pattern under the corners of her eyes. Her waves tumbled to her shoulders, the ends just barely resting on her more-than-ample chest. Greg felt his cheeks begin to heat as his eyes followed the lines of her curvy sides and her hips, traveling down her legs and stopping at her ankles. _Please, let her have cute toes,_ he silently begged, then let his eyes land on her feet. _Oh, thank God. They're adorable._

He suddenly realized it was very quiet within the group, and he brought his eyes back up to her face. Maegan snickered. "Done checking me out?" she asked bluntly, earning a laugh from the assortment of adults around them. Greg's cheeks suddenly looked as though they'd been harshly sunburned. He somehow found the courage to look her in the eye again, and she laughed, a loud, belly-deep laugh that he found himself admiring right away. Her eyes sparkled when she finally stopped giggling and held out her hand. "Maegan Anderson. Don't worry; I won't hold it against you."

Greg allowed himself a slightly nervous laugh. "Greg Sanders." Her hand was just a few inches under his chin, and without thinking, he swept it up to his lips and gently kissed the back of it, a tiny, electric shock sparking on her skin. She half wanted to yank her hand back because of it, but the feel of his lips on her hand nearly shattered her image as the unshakable Maegan, and so she let it linger there, under his mouth.

There was a soft silence as he slowly lowered her hand and they looked at each other, not speaking, just tiny smiles on the corners of their mouths. A hearty guffaw broke the silence; Sam Anderson was practically dying where he stood, laughing and laughing. Maegan turned on him, withdrawing her hand to hit her uncle on the shoulder. "And what, pray tell, is so funny?"

"Nothing… nothing," he gasped, letting his laughs trail off a bit before speaking again. "I just see that we're going to have our hands full this summer." He put his arm around his quietly-snickering wife as Fred Sanders hid a smile from his son. Maegan crossed her arms over her chest and stuck her tongue out at Sam, but her cheeks began to burn.

Papa Olaf, however, did not hide his feelings at all, at least, not in Norwegian. "Hun er en jente å holde sikkert. Vinne hennes hjerte, Hojem," he exclaimed, gesturing wildly to the girl beside his grandson. Her eyes widened in a little confusion as he finished his sentence. Greg flicked his eyes up as he slowly translated his grandfather's words in his head: She's a girl to keep. Win her heart, Hojem. His cheeks colored darkly again.

Fred, who also understood Norwegian, immediately said, "Well, we really must be getting back to Lynne; she'll already be worried about us." Greg grimaced, recognizing the truth in his father's words. He turned to Sam, once again shaking the farmer's hand. "It's in her nature. Don't be surprised if she calls Greg quite often." He paused, then added, "Thank you for taking our son in for the summer. Let us know if anything is going on during the season that we can meet you at."

Sam grinned back at the other man, clasping the other's hand in his firm grip. "We'll take good care of him; I promise." He turned his attention to Olaf again. "I'm sure we'll see you soon, Olaf." The old man smiled and nodded before instructing his grandson to be good and get the girl in Norwegian.

"Ja, Pappa Olaf, jeg vil," Greg responded, partially embarrassed and partially happy that his grandfather actually cared about such things. He turned to his father, clearing his throat, feeling awkward in front of all the people. "Well, uh… bye, I guess."

Fred smiled a secret smile. "We'll see you soon, son." He clapped his hand on Greg's shoulder, then said, "Listen to your grandfather, Greg. We'll be checking in on you." As Greg's cheeks colored even deeper, his father and grandfather took off in the black car, headed back to the incredibly safe suburb where Greg's mother would no doubt be insane with worry about Greg's safety already.

Sam rubbed his hands together. "Well, Greg, if you'll just follow me into the house, I'll show you your room for the summer." He smiled kindly at the boy, then turned to his niece. "Maeggadear, I'll show you where you are, too, since I didn't get a chance to before." The two teenagers glanced at each other, then looked away quickly, missing the knowing look between Clara and Sam.

"Okay, sir," Greg said awkwardly, reaching for his duffel bag on the dirt and following the little family and the girl into the farm house. Sam led them up a slightly rickety, white staircase to the second of two landings. He turned back to them at the door at the end of the hall. Greg noticed that it took Maegan a little longer to get up the steps to them; it seemed like she had stopped a few times on the steps.

"Here's the deal, kids. We only have the one room right now because of the rainstorm a few weeks ago, so we're trusting the two of you to share a room for the summer." Maegan and Greg's jaws individually dropped. "Yes, shocking, I know, to have such trust in teenagers, but Maegan, I know you could kick his ass if he tried anything, anyway." Maegan snorted, and Greg looked away in embarrassment, but Sam clapped him on the shoulder. "Just a joke, my man, just a joke. I'm sure you're strong as an ox. Why don't y'all set your stuff down and I'll head downstairs? Come down when you're done for dinner, though, okay?" The two nodded, dumbstruck, and Sam set off down the stairs to the kitchen, leaving them alone together in the doorway.


End file.
